


Anything You Ever Did

by tightrope_inthe_closet



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angsty?, F/F, I don't know had bad yet, I'm giving her my own made up backstory, It probably will be, very Nicole centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:58:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tightrope_inthe_closet/pseuds/tightrope_inthe_closet
Summary: She always had everything she needed, but then the ground shook. The ground fissured and her life changed. Her reality released a final heart rending whimper before it folded and dropped. In the span of a moment--in the truth of one object--her life spiraled and plummeted, taking a straight drop to the bottom of her heart where it shattered and splintered into millions of shards. Now before her lay a grand chasm. It spanned the newly realized fairy tale of her previous life to create a solemn abyss, the darkness of which masked the very truths of who she was.





	Anything You Ever Did

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my first multi-chapter fic, but my other one kind of sucked because I got ahead of myself. I'm hopeful on this one though! I'm actually pretty excited about this!

The brakes of the pickup scrub against the rims of the wheels and the tires squeal against the asphalt as the car skids to a stop, loose gravel flying up in a wicked spray behind the vehicle. The taped cardboard boxes in the truck bed slide forward and crash against the exterior of the cab with a brutal thud. When the car’s motion halts just in time to avoid the deer standing in the road just three feet away from the front bumper, Nicole Haught releases the breath she had unconsciously taken as soon as the headlights had landed upon the roaming buck. The animal’s frightened eyes gleam in the headlights just before its strong hind legs propel it into a wild leap, carrying it from the center of the road and the creature sprints into the trees on the other side.

The redhead inside the truck’s cab leans forward in the driver’s seat, pressing her forehead against the steering wheel and taking a moment to breathe. It is a desperate attempt to settle her now perpetually frazzled nerves. The sound of a coyote howling out beyond the treeline filters through her nervous state and she lifts her head from the wheel. She leans back in her seat rolling her head around on her shoulders before settling her gaze on the sky through the open window.

The not-quite-full moon hangs high in the sky, indicative of the early hour of the morning and a glance at the dashboard’s clock confirms that it has just passed one in the morning.  Turning back toward the window, she watches as the dark masses of the tall pines sway slightly in a soft breeze and an owl hoots nearby. She inhales a slow breath as the cool breeze drifts into the cab window and enjoys the barely there caress flowing across her skin. Exhaling gently through her nose, afraid of disturbing the resonant silence that surrounds her, she opens her eyes and trains her gaze back on the road in front of her. Removing her foot from the brake, she proceeds down the desolate road, wary of what she’ll find at the end of her route.

 

* * *

 

The streetlights buzz as Nicole steps out of the truck cab and onto the gravel of the motel parking lot. She winds the lever to roll up the driver’s window and presses the locking mechanism of the door before gently shutting it and turning toward the entrance of the motel’s office. As she approaches, she takes in the motel’s rundown state. The glass door of the office is cracked near the bottom and a large piece of cardboard has been taped to the interior side of the door, in attempt to insulate the building Nicole guesses. Wires and chains dangle from the awning above the door, reminiscent of the fluorescent lights that once illuminated the entrance but are now entirely gone. Now the only light outside of the building comes from the street lights that line the cracked sidewalk by the road and leave a eery gap of darkness over the parking lot.

As she steps through the door, she takes in the similarly foreboding interior of the building. The carpet, which appears to have not been redone since at least the 1970’s, is a reddish brown that has been mottled with stains of varying colors and degrees of severity and seems to have “survived” multiple bouts of water damage. It’s frazzled and torn in several places and blends in with the brown beadboard of both the walls ceiling, giving this room an atmosphere that Nicole equates to the inside of a old shoebox. As she approaches the desk, Nicole feels no more welcome than the flies buzzing about the lamp on a side table between two straight back chairs that bear grey fabric that has somehow--Nicole doesn’t even want to guess--been stained to match the floor.

Behind the beat  up wooden desk sits a middle aged woman whose very appearance is a vast contradiction to the motel itself. Her ash blonde hair is pulled into a tight bun and her pressed polo shirt sports the logo emblazoned on the sign out by the roadside. The light coming from the computer monitor shines on her face, highlighting the pinched brow and expression of cynical rumination. Nicole imagines that the gaze is serving its purpose considering she feels out of place in her plain black t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and worn tennis shoes--quite a feat considering the repugnant state of the building itself. The woman only continues to eye Nicole in silence as she steps forward.

When the woman fails to address her, Nicole takes the initiative. Holding her hand out to the other woman she introduces herself. “Hi, I’m Nicole Haught. Your sign said you were open. I was hoping to get a room.” When the woman refuses to accept the polite gesture, Nicole awkwardly drops her hand back to her side, the rejection causing her words to trail off unsurely with the infliction of a question.

The two women stare each other down for a moment before the worker turns her attention back to the computer. The mouse clicks in the tense silence before the woman finally speaks.

“Just you?”

“Yes.”

The mouse clicks.

“Sixty-five a night. How long you planning on staying?”

The terse tone of the question made her hesitate. “I-uh. I don’t quite know yet. I guess two weeks will do for now.”

When she tells the woman she will be paying the near one thousand dollar bill in cash, the woman’s brow quirks and she stares at Nicole, incredulous that this young woman is carrying that much cash. Nicole steadily holds the gaze until the woman turns back to the computer. “I’ll need to see your driver’s license, too.”

The redhead pulls her wallet from her back pocket, removing her license and passing it across the counter along with ten wrinkled hundred dollar bills.

The woman silently completes the transaction before sliding the card back across the counter along with a receipt, Nicole's change and a standard metal key adorned with a numbered plastic keychain.

“Room 10. Last room on ground level.”

“Thank you.” Nicole tucks the card and change back into her wallet, grabs the key, and leaves the office without another word, feeling the brusque woman’s gaze on her the entire time.

 

* * *

 

After making the two trips it takes to carry all her belongings from the truck, Nicole closes the motel door behind her, twisting the locks on both deadbolt and doorknob. She leans back against the cool metal surface, letting herself take a moment to breathe as she takes in the room that will be her home for the next two weeks. The carpet here is slightly better than that of the office, having no doubt seen less foot traffic, but is still a long way from being called “clean.” The room is tiny and bears only an upright five drawer dresser, upon which sat a television set which bears a rabbit-ear antenna; a queen bed, which dominates the room; a small nightstand that stands vigil between the bed and the curtain-covered window and holds both an orange glowing lamp and a small alarm clock the face of which blinks repeatedly; and directly below the window sits an air conditioning unit that rattles as it spews out lukewarm air doing nothing to cool down the stale room. On the other side of the room, the bathroom door is open allowing her to see the equally small bathroom that barely seems to have enough room for the toilet and pedestal sink, much less the shower stall with its cheap white plastic curtain.

Nicole takes another deep breath before she pushes off the door and drags herself toward the duffel bag she’d tossed onto the bed, digging through it until she finds her toiletry bag. She carries it into the bathroom and props it on the miniscule ledge of the sink. She locates what she needs and turns on the water tap. The tap sputters air for a moment before spewing forth warm water. She hesitates cups a handful of the seemingly clear water, cautiously sniffing it before shrugging and wetting her brush beneath the tap. As she proceeds through her nightly routine, she stares at herself in the mirror. The dark circles beneath her eyes have only grown with the events of the past several weeks and her brows seem to be constantly furrowed these days, always displaying her inner turmoil.

She finally shuts off the bathroom light and heads toward the bed, not even bothering with changing clothes or removing her blue jeans. She simply kicks off her shoes before tossing her bag to floor and drawing back the sheets on the bed. She does pause to inspect the white sheets for a moment before deciding they appear to be clean enough and sliding in. As she plugs up her phone for the night, she checks the time again and upon realizing it is now well past four, she is thankful she does not have anywhere pressing to be and can simply rest. She shuts off the light and reclines back on the flat pillows, staring at the ceiling in the dark. “Almost there,” she mutters as she closes her eyes and allows herself to finally fall asleep, dreaming of a soft-lit room and crushing moments.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "Leave a Trace" by Chvrches
> 
> All feedback is helpful! Maybe it'll get me to stay on track with this one!
> 
> Plus, I only have a very vague idea of where this is going so trust me when I say all comments and suggestions are welcome!


End file.
